


“What’s the fun of that?”

by RainingPrince



Series: Theoretically Canon-Compliant but largely unrelated Good Omens shorts [8]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Alcohol, Angst, Canon Compliant, Existential Crisis, Gen, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-07
Updated: 2020-06-07
Packaged: 2021-03-03 18:47:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24580294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RainingPrince/pseuds/RainingPrince
Summary: A cocktail sits on the bar in front of a sharply dressed man-shaped-creature. The drink is sitting in a martini glass, with an olive skewered through and an orange curl. He’s not really sure what’s in it.When he sat down, the bartender had asked him, “What's your lot then?”And he had replied with a long-suffering “The world didn’t end and God is dead.”
Series: Theoretically Canon-Compliant but largely unrelated Good Omens shorts [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1594831
Comments: 5
Kudos: 38





	“What’s the fun of that?”

**Author's Note:**

> This fic features alcohol use/intoxication, swearing, brief mention of cigarettes, and a brief mention of potential injury related to broken glass.

A cocktail sits on the bar in front of a sharply dressed man-shaped-creature. The drink is sitting in a martini glass, with an olive skewered through and an orange curl. He’s not really sure what’s in it.

When he sat down, the bartender had asked him, “What's your lot then?”

And he had replied with a long-suffering “The world didn’t end and God is dead.”

The bartender had nodded. “I know just what you need.” And has silently prepared the drink while Gabriel stared at the counter, unseeing.

He’s conflicted.

Gabriel had spent so long, so much of his entire existence waiting for something, something so momentous and important and promising. He had been so sure he was doing it all right, exactly what She had asked of him. He had been so wrapped up in his role in The Great Plan he had never once stopped to think about it. He’d barrelled through and done his duty. He’d gotten so close, all the paperwork was finished and everything was in place and he’d practically been foaming at the mouth, waiting for the ball to drop.

And then it was gone. 6000 years of rivalry, hatred, scheming, self-assured aggrandising and confidence shaken in one measly afternoon. The whole Plan, everything Heaven had worked for all this time, erased. By two half-wits and a handful of children.

Someone nearby said something, and it startles Gabriel enough that he looks up, his eyes a little bleary. Had he been crying? He’s never done that before. “Excuse me?” He asks.

“I said, are you sure God is dead? And not just, I dunno, taking a nap?”

Gabriel isn’t sure what to make of this. He squints, trying to get a good look at the stranger, but he finds that the only thing he can really comprehend is a kind, patient smile. If he had a gut, it would be twisting right now. “A nap?”

“Or perhaps a vacation? A nip out for a cigarette? Who knows what sort of equivalent would exist for a God, but I’m sure there is one.”

He considers this, mulls it over in his head, and then decides he isn’t quite ready to parse it out yet. His gaze falls on the untouched martini in front of him. “I didn’t order this.”

“Do you want it?” The stranger asks.

He bites his lip. “I’ve never drank anything before.”

“Not even water?” He can detect a hint of a joke in Her voice. He shakes his head. “Why not?”

“My body is a temple and I shall not sully it with gross matter.” He rattles off. The words feel like sandpaper on his tongue, the scent of ash.

“Why would it be sullying?”

“God made me as She saw fit. I was not designed to eat therefore I shall not.”

“What’s the fun of that?”

He purses his lips, realising he’d been staring at the drink the whole time, and that humans usually didn’t consider that very polite. “Fun? What the fuck does fun have to do with it?”

He looks up, finally, but the stranger is gone. One of the questions he hadn’t yet answered rattles around in his head, buzzing angrily, demanding to be let out. _“Do you want it?”_

Does he even want? All this time he has single-mindedly pursued The Great Plan. He had had one overarching goal and everything he had done had been in service to it. Sure, had had his schemes and plots, but he had always told himself they had their own purpose in this quest. The Great Plan.

What was so Great about it anyway?

Had his schemes really been in line with it? Or had they been an outlet for things he didn’t even want to admit that he needed. For fear of getting distracted. For fear of failure. For fear of disappointing Her.

Well, if God is dead, or taking a nap, or out for a cosmic bloody cigarette, what the fuck does it matter what She wants? Does he want the drink?

No. He doesn’t.

He looks down at the glass with a dangerous mixture of misery and resignation, and downs the whole thing.

The bottle shatters like a firework over a silent bay, shards scattered far and wide across the pavement. The ancient wooden door suddenly found its beautiful, painstakingly crafted surface marred, scratched in a hundred insulting little nicks. Slivers of glass spun and danced into the grass, gleefully picturing the day a child will run through the yard with bare feet.

“What the fuck, mate?” A voice can be heard not far away, indignation and horror plain as day. “Was that really necessary?”

Gabriel’s face is twisted in pain. It’s been hours since his first drink, and he hadn’t been able to stop. He’d had four before the bartender cut him off looking worried, and he’d immediately raided the first liquor store he’d seen down the street. He’d consumed an additional bottle of vodka and tequila each and it had been the empty remains of one of those which had just now hit the door. He wasn’t sure which.

He turned to snarl at the person who’d shouted, his eyes burning and his hackles raised. He curled his hands into fists and grew two inches as he uncurled his posture and stood to his full height.

The human merely sneered. “Dude, get some help.” And walked away, muttering to his friend about maybe calling the cops.

Gabriel was too far gone to care that his attempt at smiting hadn’t worked, and he instead dropped to his knees. It hurt, a sensation that was new to him, a sharp ache licking up his thighs and spine like lightning. It couldn’t compare to the storm in his head.

The church towered above him, it’s windows staring down at him like so many glassy, empty eyes, the awnings casting ominous, growing shadows across its visage. The streetlamps were just turning on as dusk rolled over the city; the last hints of the sun slowly retreating, gently smoothing out the kinks and sharp edges of the world.

He wanted to scream. He wanted to scream, and roar, and shake the planet, he wanted to cause a ruckus so massive that no one would be able to ignore it. But he knew it would be useless.

Wherever She was, She wasn’t answering. What use is throwing a tantrum if the one person who could fix it won’t even look at you?

He started to sob.

The sky didn’t even have the decency to rain.

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally a scene from a fic written with Queen_Mab, the project seems to be abandoned so I've decided to share his excerpt I was particularly proud of.


End file.
